Trifle of Sugar
by LostOneLawliet
Summary: "I loved you once. I love you still. Always have... Always, Will." GrellxWill, oneshot. Please R&R!


Grell Sutcliff is a considerably happy man when done with a good reaping, no matter the lengths he goes to in order to avoid his work. Today is certainly no exception- Death's hand is merciless in the London streets, tolling through each nook and cranny with restless abandon. In normal circumstances, the red reaper prefers the Death that comes in the night, under the ethereal beauty of the glow of the waning moon, but today, the calm sunlight that falls and filters in lilting strands of silver-white offers some respite, and his good mood follows him to the Shinigami Realm. As usual, news of his arrival is sent from ear to ear in whispers, and the whole branches knows of Grell's flashy appearance even when he's scarcely in the door. And, it seems, for good reason- not only is Grell committing a horrendous offense to the dress code- no, his fashion sense for today is, in fact, shocking beyond repair, but perhaps most alarming is the fact that Grell has chosen a light sundress as the base of his outfit beneath his coat, a color of cottony milk white suggesting the wilting innocence of a lamb. It is soaked, spattered in human blood, creating floral bursts of crimsons and scarlets. Shades of vermillion spot his cheek, coat his lips, and slip down his thighs in trickles of reminiscence of life. Grell's ruby heels click against the tiled floor as he roams the halls, and he takes the stairs, if only to tap out his long, wistful beat. His hair wild and free and his glasses rightfully askew, he's sure he looks fierce. A blood red paper shopping bag hangs off the crook of his arm in a girly air, bumping his hip in a steady motion, and he grins devilishly as he throws open the door to William's office. "William-darling!~" he coos, and he is greeted with perfect silence, save for the ticking of the ebony reaper's clock. Frowning, the red reaper ventures in past the threshold, swinging his bag over his shoulder and humming. He sees a dark outline on the desk and identifies it as a slumped-over Will, facedown on the polished oak surface. Something sets off an alarm in his head- what if something is wrong with his dear Will? Nothing distracts him from his work! Grell slinks over, every bit the wildcat on the prowl, and slips off a glove to feel for Will's pulse. Truthfully, the prospect of administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to the man is attractive in its own right. The man's heartbeat is normal, and, Grell realizes lately, he is breathing steadily. Will shifts in his sleep, resting his cheek against his folded arms, and Grell's heart swells at the sight of the lovely sleeping face of his eighty-years'-crush. "Oh, William," he hums. "Can't even stay awake to see the lovely dress I wore for you? You're working much too hard, my dear. For shame!" His quick fingers remove Will's glasses with tender loving care, and he folds them and sets them on the desk, picking up a short stack of black assignment booklets; it appears that, due to being short on staff, Will has dispatch duty today as well. They are all blank and uncompleted, and, upon checking the clock, Grell sees that the first is scheduled to die in a half hour. He smirks gently, setting down his bag by William's feet and running his gingers through that precisely-combed, swarthy hair- oh, how he wishes that hair were his to stroke and slip his fingers through and even tighten his fingers and give a little tug- lust-filled thoughts drift through his head, dangerously, and Grell cups his cheeks in a mild attempt to cover his blush, swaying back and forth in a daydream. "Oh, Wiru~" he coos, and he giggles girlishly. "Never fret, my dear; I shall take care of these nasty souls for you." With that, he clicks his fingers to summon his death scythe, slings it over his shoulder, and is off.

Will wakes at twelve-thirty, rousing peacefully from his sleep to the sound of the clock ticking. His vision is nothing but a blue, and he fumbles for his glasses endlessly before seizing them and putting them on. As the room clears and comes into view, he looks for the time and gives a start- his souls were due for collection hours ago! Fretfully, he reaches to summon his scythe as he leaps to his feet, but he stops as Grell's coat slips from his shoulders and falls into his chair in a heap of red material, accented in a decorative black. Fearing more from the intrusion of the red reaper upon his office, he moves for the door and is nearly tripped by a confounded red bag…. He picks the thing up and finds it loaded with stacks of mission records; each booklet is filled to the brim with precise crimson scrawl in perfect description of each death. Atop Will's desk is another stack, and a red-adorned note atop it reading "No overtime."

William comes upon Grell's office and finds it empty. The loud proclamation of red splashed on the walls never fails to make him shake his head at the red reaper's flamboyancy and outright disrespect of the proper codes of decoration and organization. The reaper seldom ventures in the place, but he'll have to come in on a reaping day of this stature, lest he face William's wrath. He sets down the red bag, along with a smaller bag he's brought especially for the occasion of this day, and waits.

The door reopens after awhile and in dances Little Red himself, covered head to toe in blood and clothed in a poor white dress with now-shattered innocence. "Oh, Wiru!" he exclaims with a grin. "I was just wondering where you were, you sly-as-a-devil-thing! How do you like my dress, hm? I wore it just for you on your very special day- though I must say, the reaping I did today really did enhance it!"

William bows his head, even as he sighs. "Yes, Grell Sutcliff, I realize that today is a special day for the both of us."

"Ooh, Wiru, are you saying what I think?~" Grell shrieks in glee and clasps his hands together, squirming as he leans most of his weight across his cherry wood desk. "Shall we go back to your flat and have a romp or two to celebrate, hmmm?"

"That will not be necessary, no," William says. "Moreover, I have prepared my own gift for you."

Grell, in his shock, must stop to blink. William has never been overly kind or sentimental; he never gives gifts and hardly stands to receive any of Grell's. He's very nearly suspicious of this confession, but not at all upset. "Oh?" he says softly. The whisper sifts between his jagged teeth and Will adjusts his glasses briefly with his death scythe.

"After all, eighty years of partnership with the London Branch is quite the big deal," he says.

"I suppose," says Grell, who knows that under normal circumstances, Will would never give him more than a nod, perhaps a handshake to excite his love of intimate touches (and then, a rare and fleeting treat).

Will nods, and he clears his throat quite awkwardly before reaching into his bag and drawing out a deep red box, roughly as wide as his hand. It is tied with a crimson, sequined bow, clearly not of Will's choosing, and Grell squeals at the sight of it and promptly sweeps up his hair and ties it.

"Oh, Wiru, you shouldn't have!~" he croons. Will sighs tiredly.

"Sutcliff, the present is inside of the box," he prompts, and Grell tears it open with vigor to find something quite peculiar indeed.

"Is this… a cupcake?" he asks, giving a little giggle as the barest of tints touch William's cheeks.

"One in the mortal realm could call it so, yes. Just a trifle of sugar and more sugar to satisfy your incredulous cravings." It's a lovely, large thing with a beautifully whipped top (red, of course), sprinkled with crystalline jimmies all colors of the rainbow and pillowing a little maraschino cherry. The base is a moist, crumbly red velvet, wrapped in shiny red foil. The small makes Grell's mouth water, but he's unsure if he wants to wolf down his first gift from his cold comrade so readily.

"What is it?" William asks stiffly. It's nearly a statement rather than a question, and Grell grins. "Oh, Wiru, I would love to partake of such a thing… but alas, a woman must watch her figure! I couldn't possibly eat this all by myself!" William hums, looking to the cutesy festive fork at the bottom of the bakery box. "It seems that you'll be eating it in small, well-planned increments, then. There is only one utensil-"

"Nonsense, my silly Willy," Grell half-sings, and he takes said utensil, loads it with a sizable amount of cupcake, and holds it to William's lips. "I'll simply have to feed you, like lovers do!" The light tint returns to Will's cheeks. "Sutcliff, I don't-"

"Pleeeease, Wiru?~ Oh, it would make my day, it would!~"

Will eyes the red reaper warily and gives a short sigh, giving an uneasy look to the forkful of confection before indignantly opening his mouth. Squealing gleefully, Grell guides the utensil into his fellow reaper's mouth, watching him chew and swallow with his hands pressed flush to his cheeks. "Oh, Will, you're simply so delicious; me next!~ He bestows the fork upon Will and opens his mouth now, giving view to his razor-edge teeth, and William blushingly but carefully feeds the red reaper, praying that no one comes barging into his office.

"Ooh, it's my turn, it is," Grell says, shivering as he feels the cake dissolve on his tongue. He reaches for the red bag, humming, and digs down past all the booklets to pull out a black album, inscribed with silver letters spelling _William Thomas Spears_. Will stares at the gift a moment before taking it from Grell. "What is this?" he asks.

"Open it!" Grell urges, and Will sighs and opens it. It is a well-done scrapbook, crafted with the utmost care- the entire first page details their first year together, accented with a few pictures here and there. He doesn't read the entire passage scrawled in red down the length of the page, but his eyes catch on a single line apart from the rest, lingering at the bottom of the page. "Year One: The year that I was bitter, and you stole my heart away." Will's eyes lift to Grell' the other Shinigami is smiling at his lap with a happy, shy smile curling his lips. He turns the page. "Year Two: Our first as full-fledged reapers, and the first that I realized how hot you are in a suit." This pattern continues up until the very last page, but the inscription is on the inner back cover this time.

"Year Eighty:

I loved you once.

I love you still.

Always have….

Always, Will."

Will lifts his eyes once more, and the red reaper smiles. "So," he says, hoping not to let his anxiety slip, "Do you…. Like it, Wiru?"

Will feels vindicated and flustered suddenly, and he clears his throat, willing his blush to quell, to no avail. "Grell Sutcliff, your gift is very unprofessional and far too personal. You should have thought better of it, presenting it to me at work like this."

Grell's smile falters and he chuckles to cover it, twirling a tendril of ruby red hair around his finger. "Is that so…"

"However," Will says softly, checking his watch, "It is high time for my lunch break, and while out to lunch, the office's rules are not applicable." He stands and offers his arm, a warm, rare smile molding to his lips. "I wonder if the beautiful Miss Sutcliff would indulge me with her company?"

Here, red spreads to Grell's cheeks, and he squeals once more and pounces Will's arm, hugging it tight to his body to feel his warmth through his dress. The dark-haired Shinigami smirks and pats Grell's hand with his free one. "Eighty years is a long time for simply a petty crush," he observes as they walk the streets of the mortal realm, receiving the occasional odd look.

"Because it is no petty crush," Grell giggles, drawing circles on Will's chest with the tip of his finger. "I love you, William, with all of my heart."

William chuckles, and they walk, arm in arm, along the path that lovers take. He bends to place his first warm kiss upon the red reaper's lips. "I return the sentiment." The soft brush ignites a fire in Grell's gut and he squirms in glee.

"Oh, Wiru, kiss me again!~"

"On your own time, Sutcliff."


End file.
